Act 27: Recovery
by SilverShadow44
Summary: Following the battle with Big Fau, Roger and Dorothy are in desperately bad shape. Can an unlikely pair of allies save the day?
1. After the End, Beginning

ACT 27: RECOVERY

Angel blinked, and the bright light vanished from her eyes. She was standing in the middle of one of Paradigm City's busiest streets, with no clear memory of what she was doing there, while dozens of other equally confused figures milled around her. Why? Had there been another 'Event'? She closed her eyes and tried to remember . . . . the elderly Gordon Rosewater shouting something at her, holding up a book. She remembered feeling like she wanted to die, like everything she'd ever believed was nothing but a lie. But she couldn't die – not yet. There was something she'd had to do, something only she could accomplish. And though she couldn't remember exactly what it was, she somehow knew she'd accomplished it. And much to her surprise, for the first time in weeks, she felt good about herself. She felt proud again.

She also felt the cold of the city pavement rising up through the tattered stockings that covered her shoeless feet. And there were welts throbbing on her back – something would have to be done about those. The cool, practical part of her personality reasserted itself, and she opened her eyes once more, surveying the city chaos in a calculated manner. Perhaps in the midst of it, she had a chance to sneak back to her apartment and collect her belongings without the police catching her. She didn't know what she'd do after that, but it was a start anyhow . . . .

[-]

Roger Smith rubbed his tired eyes and struggled, for just a second, to remember where he was. But he knew. The pilot chamber of Big O was as familiar to him as his own home. Big O had been badly damaged in the battle with Big Fau, and its interior still sloshed with water from the near-fatal plummet into the harbor. Dorothy stood by Roger's side, still connected directly to Big O's control mechanisms, and they both surveyed the havoc caused by the final confrontation with Big Fau. Paradigm City itself appeared miraculously undamaged except for the single, mammoth blast zone created by Big O's ultimate `final stage' weapon. Alex Rosewater and his monstrosity had vanished. A few shattered pieces of Big Fau lay here and there on the scorched ground, but nothing else remained of the notorious 'Third Big.'

Nothing left to do now but head for home, and not a moment too soon. There wasn't a single part of Roger that didn't ache from the pummeling he'd taken. He still felt half-drowned, dizzy, and he suddenly realized he hadn't slept since before Beck's drones had kidnapped Dorothy. He steered Big O back toward the mansion, needing her help to do so. He wanted to stay awake, wanted to tell her things he never had before now that he had her back. But as the black megadeus settled into its underground docking station, the exertions of the past week slammed into him like one of Big Fau's fists. Darkness claimed him.

[-]

Dan Dastun couldn't believe he was still alive. He shouldn't be. Seconds before the blinding flash of light, destruction had rained down on his position. With his tank demolished he couldn't possibly have escaped. And yet here he stood, completely unharmed – and his tank intact too! What the hell? To his relief, he'd seen the black megadeus emerge from the harbor and win the big battle. Roger must've survived his plunge – and saved the day as usual. But how the black megadeus could _undo_ damage, Dastun didn't understand at all. Because Dastun could've sworn the whole damn city was in ruins but now nothing appeared destroyed except Big Fau. The head of Paradigm City's military police took off his hat and rubbed a hand over his bald, battle-scarred scalp. Had he gotten a concussion? No. Damned if he could figure it out! Damned if he had time to figure it out – not right now! He and his squad had a job to do, and judging by the confusion of the citizens milling in the streets like a drunk theatre crowd, they'd damn well better do it.

[-]

Beck laughed hysterically and pinched himself at his good fortune. Alex Rosewater was gone, gone for good – and along with him the threat of instant execution. Better still, Beck breathed a free man. Free to get away, that is. From the look of things, the police had their hands too full calming and directing the stinking, stupid masses even to notice him. He rubbed his hands together with glee, certain that everything was going according to plan, if he could just figure out what the plan was. Paradigm City spread out before him, like a gleaming tree full of fruit just waiting to be plucked. He'd get his share. Oh, yes – he would. And he'd settle a few scores, all in good time. The Greatest Villain in Paradigm City laughed again, and took off dreaming of secret hideouts and robberies yet unborn.

[-]

"Oh, my!" Norman Berg's one good eye widened with alarm as the elevator doors opened to reveal Dorothy carrying an unconscious Master Roger in her thin but super-strong arms. At first, the sight of his employer's unmoving body made him fear the worst had happened. But as he looked closer, he could see Master Roger was still breathing and did not appear bloodied – at least not too much. Roger was covered with small cuts and bigger bruises, and with his clothing dripping filthy salt water he looked a mess.

"Norman," Dorothy said in her usual calm android voice, "Roger is very tired. I think we should put him to bed."

The butler nodded and followed her as she carried Roger to his room. Although Dorothy's physical abilities were remarkable, it seemed to Norman that she was staggering slightly herself by the time they reached their destination. Quickly, the butler got out some towels and spread them on the bed so that she could put Roger down without soaking the sheets. In silence, and without the slightest hesitation or modesty, Dorothy removed Roger's wet clothes, dried him off, and with Norman's assistance, salved the megadeus pilot's cuts and abrasions. Roger never even stirred as they dressed him in a pair of black pajamas and covered him with a blanket. But little sooner had the task been completed when, to the butler's alarm, Dorothy began to stagger again.

"Are you all right?" he asked, rushing to prop her up as she almost fell over.

She paused, as if to consider the question.

"I think I am very tired too," she answered a moment later. "I need to go offline."

Norman, barely able to support the android's weight, let alone help her to her own room, lowered her onto the opposite side of the bed from Roger only seconds before her system shut down. He knew Dorothy 'slept' in this fashion, but never did he recall it coming on her so suddenly. Unfortunately, he didn't have the strength by himself to put her in something more comfortable than the scuba bodysuit she was still wearing, even if the gentleman's gentleman could have brought himself to do so. Although he realized she didn't feel cold the way a human would, he put a blanket over her and propped her head up on a pillow before walking out of the room and turning out the light.

"Good night, Master Roger, Miss Dorothy," he said to the oblivious pair. "And welcome home."

[-]

"Miss Jenkins?" The doorman looked at Angel, in her tattered rags, with dismay. "Are you all right, ma'am? Were you caught in the riots downtown?"

Angel, aka Casseey Jenkins, swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and nodded. She knew she was taking a terrible risk coming here, but if Paradigm Corp or the police had her apartment under surveillance, the doorman at least gave no sign of it. She would just have to brazen her way through.

 _Like you do with everything, Angel_ , she told herself.

"They took my purse, my keys, Wilkins. Can you have someone let me in?"

The doorman immediately did as she asked, putting a call through to the dome condo complex's front desk. Seconds later, she found herself being whisked up to her sometimes-living quarters by a profusely sympathetic staffer. Surely it couldn't be this easy! But it was. Angel did her best to stifle a bitter laugh as she entered her familiar living quarters. If Paradigm Corp hadn't staked out her apartment, had all those miserable days spent living in the underground tunnels and alleyways been for nothing? Did she really have a chance to start over, as if the whole Union vs. Paradigm fiasco had never taken place? It was almost too good to be true – which meant it probably was. Best to take a quick shower, change clothes, allow herself just a few hours of the sleep she craved, and take off with as much as she could stuff into a few duffel bags before the military police had a chance to get back to old business.

She might not be a real angel, but she was a real survivor.

[-]

Roger Smith woke to the feel of sun – warm, noon-day sun – on his face, and the sound of . . . . silence? Eyes still closed he waited for the racket of Dorothy's piano music that always forced him out of bed. Then he remembered – Dorothy was dead, stripped of her memories and computer circuitry by Rosewater's thugs. He hadn't rescued her on time. A wave of despair blacker than any of his clothing came crashing down on him and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Dorothy was gone, and there'd be no more music in his life – ever. But then another memory intruded in his fuzzy brain – Dorothy pressing an oxygen mask to his face to save him from drowning. She was still alive! She had to be! She'd helped him fight the battle with Big Fau and - ? What had happened after that? He couldn't remember. But if she wasn't dead, where was she now? And where was he?

Almost fearfully, he opened his eyes and stared up at the bedroom ceiling he knew so well. He was back home at the mansion, even if he had no clear recollection of how he'd gotten here. He felt an unfamiliar weight on the bed next to him and looked over to see Dorothy offline, 'asleep' under a blanket. Roger wasn't sure how she'd gotten there and he didn't care, just as long as she was safe. The terrible gash in her forehead made by Rosewater's crew remained, and her normally brilliant red hair was matted with dried seawater. Half hidden by a pillow, a streak of machine oil smudged her left cheek. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life.

Still sore in every muscle, he couldn't resist the urge to reach over and touch her, as if to reassure himself that she was real, that she was there. As his hand gently brushed her face, her dark, intelligent eyes snapped open and she gazed at him, before suddenly noticing the brilliant sunlight.

"R. Dorothy Wayneright, you've overslept," he teased her, running his fingers through her hair.

"You are a louse, Roger Smith," she replied, but made no attempt to get up or move his hand away. Instead she reached out to him with a hand of her own, and slowly they found themselves drawing closer to each other as if by some unspoken command. For a moment time stood still, and their lips were only millimeters apart, when the sudden clatter of a tea cart startled them both into a bolt upright position.

"Excuse me, Master Roger, Miss Dorothy," Norman coughed. "I thought that in light of Master Roger's injuries, it would be better to serve breakfast in bed this morning. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."

[-]

"Miss Jenkins? Miss Jenkins!"

Angel cursed as she was awakened by a pounding on her door and in her head simultaneously. She had only meant to take a catnap, but instead she'd let herself slip into an eight-hour coma. She was probably as good as caught already. Slipping the loaded revolver out from under her pillow and calculating the odds of her being able to rappel out the bedroom window with her cash-and-clothing-stuffed duffel bag, she crouched waiting for the assault from the door. But no assault came.

"Miss Jenkins, you have an urgent phone call!"

Huh?

Before these words even had a chance to sink in, the knocking on the door was joined by a ringing of the phone on her desk. Not putting her gun down or taking her eyes off the entrance to her apartment for a minute, she picked up the receiver.

"Miss Jenkins?" The anxious voice of Paradigm Corp's senior executive secretary quavered on the other end of the line. "Thank heavens we've finally reached you, ma'am! You're needed here at headquarters urgently!"

Double huh?

"Are you sure it's me you're trying to reach?" Angel asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

"Yes," the secretary continued. "We're in the midst of an emergency, ma'am, and we really need all the assistance we can get. Mr. Rosewater has disappeared, and so have his senior assistants and most of the board of directors. We need you here right away! I can send a car around to pick you up now that you've been contacted. Paradigm is holding a special session to determine what procedures are to be taken. The Power Authority needs a representative. We'll be expecting you this afternoon – thank you!"

The phone clicked off, and Angel put down the receiver with her thoughts in turmoil. Could she really pick up the pieces with Paradigm? If Rosewater and the board were gone, and she was able to bury the notorious "Patricia Lovejoy" as well . . . . She'd still have to deal with the military police and the outstanding warrant for her arrest. But the police did whatever Paradigm Corp told them to, didn't they? Except for that one officer – Datsun? No, Dastun. He was nobody's fool. But he'd let her get away once, maybe he could be reasoned with . . . .

She'd do it. She'd go to Paradigm headquarters. Life was about taking chances, and Casseey Jenkins just might have a bit of life left in her after all . . . .

[-]


	2. Double Dilemma

The first coughing fit came on Roger without warning. He'd been about to make a typical acerbic comment, and instead found himself barely able to keep from dropping his coffee cup until the spasm subsided. Dorothy moved to steady him and put a hand on his forehead.

"Roger, your body temperature is elevated 3.2 degrees above normal," she said, before turning to face Norman. "I believe it would be appropriate to summon a physician."

"Quite right," Norman agreed, and exited the bedroom to perform this task.

"Now where were we?" Roger said, putting down the cup and reaching over to Dorothy once more. But she pushed him with firm android strength back toward the pillows as another coughing fit began.

"You are not well. You need rest," she stated, in a voice that brooked no disagreement.

Roger cursed under his breath. He wanted to tell her that there were rules in his house, and one of them was that when he woke up with women in skin-tight rubber suits in his bed . . . . But he suddenly felt dizzy and weak, and didn't resist as she pulled the blanket back over him and tucked him in.

Norman re-entered the room.

"Dr. Carter will be here shortly," the butler said. "Miss Dorothy, if you'd like a chance to shower and change into your more customary clothing . . . . Also, I think it might be wise to run a diagnostic and make sure that your systems weren't damaged in the battle."

Dorothy nodded and left the room, with a reluctant look back at Roger, who was coughing again. She didn't notice that Norman watched her, frowning slightly, as she did so.

[-]

"Colonel Dastun, Sir," Lieutenant Johnson timidly tapped Dan Dastun on the shoulder to rouse him from where he'd been sleeping in his office chair. The younger policeman had to jump back as Dastun went from being unconscious to springing up alert with the instant reflexes of a combat-trained veteran.

"What is it?" Dastun growled.

"Colonel, all sectors of Domes 1 through 7 are reporting in to say that their situations are under control and the riots have stopped."

"Everything's fine? You woke me up to tell me that?" Colonel Dastun practically screamed into the man's face. With a gulp, the lieutenant dashed out of Dastun's office, short-straw mission accomplished. Dastun shook his head, yawned and stretched. He supposed he should have gone home after his long, hard shift, but he'd wanted to stay in his office in case yet another emergency popped up. It was annoying as hell to be deprived of rest for a lack of emergency, however. Taking a deep swig of the cold, day-old coffee in his office mug, Dastun pulled open the venetian blinds covering his window and took in the view of Paradigm's outer-dome region. Life appeared to be getting back to normal – as normal as life in the City of Amnesia ever was.

Before he could follow the coffee up with a hardtack-stale danish, the phone on his desk began to ring.

"Now what?" he grumbled aloud to himself before picking up the receiver. "Dastun here." His bushy eyebrows furrowed in consternation. "Oh, it's you. How's-" He stopped to listen to the speaker on the other end of the line. "What? Of course! I'll be there right away!" He slammed the receiver down and dashed out of his office.

"Colonel, where are you going?" Lieutenant Johnson called to him as Dastun headed toward the military police's vehicle garage.

"Out." Dastun snapped, and commandeered a car.

[-]

"Mr. Smith, I could do more to help you if you would at least be honest with me," Dr. Carter said, putting away the stethoscope in his doctor's kit and taking out a small bottle of pills.

"Honest?" the patient coughed.

"You have a concussion, fever, contusions on most of your body, and the beginnings of severe bronchitis, and you've told me you got this way by cleaning your basement." The doctor gave Roger a cynical stare as Roger shrugged. "I seem to recall in the past you have also suffered electrical burns, pulled muscles, and on one very spectacular occasion a gunshot wound in your left arm from cleaning your basement. I can only conclude that you are either lying or," Dr. Carter said drily, "that you have an extremely dangerous basement."

Roger laughed weakly.

"You have no idea . . . ."

"Be that as it may," the doctor continued, snapping his medical case shut, "there is nothing amusing about your present condition. I can give you some medicine for the bronchitis, but you will probably start feeling a good deal worse before you are better, and I'll continue to check on you to make sure it doesn't turn into pneumonia. You need complete rest. No strenuous physical activity of any kind. And definitely no more 'basement cleaning' – do I make myself clear?" Dr. Carter aimed these last words at Norman and Dorothy, who were in attendance as well. All three nodded.

Norman showed Dr. Carter out the door just as Dan Dastun arrived. The officer stepped aside and watched the doctor's retreat with dismay before following Norman into the mansion.

"Shouldn't Roger be in the hospital?" Dastun asked. "If it's a matter of life and death like you said, I'll take him myself no matter how stubborn he is."

"It hasn't come to that yet," Norman told him, leading Dastun to Roger's bedroom.

Dastun had a hard time believing that as he saw the battered, coughing Paradigm City Negotiator lying in bed, looking nearly as pale as the android who sat in a bedside chair holding Roger's hand. He was in for an even bigger shock when Dorothy turned around to face him. Not only was her customary headband missing, but a good bit of the head underneath it was gone as well, leaving a gap where her central computer unit should be.

"Dastun," Roger managed a faint smile, "what are you doing here?"

"Norman, uh, told me you weren't doing too well," Dastun said, taking off his hat. "Thought I'd better come see you myself. You and that megadeus gave me a scare yesterday, sinking into the bay like that. I thought you were a goner."

"I thought I was too," Roger coughed, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. "Dorothy saved me." He gazed at her with unmistakable affection. "Took a little water in the lungs, though. I'm feeling it now."

"Colonel Dastun," Dorothy said, "Roger is very ill. He should rest."

Dastun arched an eyebrow at this hint of dismissal, but he couldn't disagree. Roger's eyes were already half closed, and he clearly didn't have the strength for a long visit. Dastun nodded.

"Guess I'll be going then. You take care of yourself, understand? And leave the city-saving up to the military police." Putting his cap back on, Dastun headed out the bedroom door and toward the front entrance when Norman pulled him aside.

"Colonel, if I might have a word with you?" The butler asked, and led the police officer into a sideroom, where Norman had a number of papers and schematics scattered on a small table.

"Roger sure looks bad," Dastun muttered. "But is he as bad as you think? Is his illness that serious?"

Norman shook his head.

"Master Roger is not near death," the butler said, picking up a blueprint. "Miss Dorothy is."

"What?"

"You noticed the open space in her forehead?" Norman asked.

"Of course I noticed! What the hell happened to her? And how is she even moving around and talking without her-?" He tapped his own head for emphasis.

Norman explained, in brief detail, the events of the past few days – how Dorothy had been kidnapped by Beck's robot drones and stripped of her memory circuitry by Alex Rosewater's scientists for the purpose of activating Big Fau. How she had appeared dead, only to come back online miraculously in time to save Roger.

"During the final battle, Miss Dorothy was connected directly to Big O's computer banks, and I was able to retrieve an analysis of her present condition from Big O. She is apparently running off of an emergency backup system that Professor Wayneright implanted in the area where her heart would be if she were human." Norman pointed to a section of the schematic he was holding. "But it is _only_ an emergency backup system, never intended to be a permanent replacement. It did not activate right away, which is why we thought she was dead. And should the backup fail before her main memory circuit can be repaired, she will die for real."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" Dastun asked.

"Using the information from Big O's computers I believe I can repair her, but I will need certain parts which are difficult to obtain. Master Roger is in no shape to undertake any missions, and I dare not take my eye off either one of them right now." For a moment Norman's face crumpled with despair. "I know you are an important man, Colonel, too important to send on errands. But this is no easy task and I –" Norman's voice faltered. "I have no one else I can turn to. I saw how Master Roger grieved when we thought she was dead, and it was terrible. If we were to lose her now, permanently, while he is so ill . . . ."

"We could lose them both," Dastun said grimly. He remembered all too well how Roger reacted when Alan Gabriel, the sadistic Union assassin, had nearly destroyed Dorothy a few weeks earlier. This _was_ a matter of life and death all right. "Give me your list."

"You'll do it then?" Norman almost begged as he handed over a sheet of paper.

"Roger's saved my life more times than I can count," Dastun answered. "If he and Dorothy need my help right now, it's the least I can do. Just keep them both alive until I get back."

"I'll do my best, Sir," Norman promised. "And thank you, Colonel."

As Dastun made his way out the front door, he took a look at the list – the long list – he'd been given. Norman should have wished him luck - he was going to need it.

[-]

"And that's the situation," Paradigm Corp's senior surviving board member, Francine Hatfield, addressed the very small group of people seated around the very large rectangular table. "The military police have restored order throughout the city, mass hysteria has abated, although a few pockets remain hazardous . . . ."

Casseey Jenkins kept a poker face as she counted the officials who'd actually showed up – a poor number at best. But if this was that survived of Paradigm Corp, the odds of resurrecting her cover were looking better and better.

"The public," Ms. Hatfield continued, "particularly outside the domes, must not be made aware of how many of our staff are missing or deceased. Alex Rosewater's dangerous experiment has cost the company dearly, but we will survive." She banged her fist on the table. "For the sake of the entire city, we _must_ survive! I'm counting on all of you to do your duty while we recruit and renew our ranks!"

Her audience, including the sole representative of the Metropolitan Power Authority, applauded at the conclusion of her speech.

 _I'm going to pull this off_ , Angel thought, _I really am_.

Now if she could just keep the police from arresting her and Union agents from assassinating her, she would be home free . . . .

[-]

Dastun knew nothing about cybernetics, so for a first stop he went to the closest thing to an expert he knew.

"I'm sorry," R. Instro shook his head with genuine sadness, looking at the list. "My father might have had a good many of these items in his lab. But I sold our old house, contents and all, so I could pay for the repairs on my hands, and on the restaurant." With a sweep of those hands he gestured around the Amadeus. "I think I have a few of these parts. Father did keep a storage space here, but most of what you are looking for, no."

The musician android left for a few minutes to search the storage room and returned carrying a tiny box.

"Here are a few of the chips on your list. That's all I could find." Instro helpfully marked the items off on Dastun's sheet. "If you don't mind my asking, Colonel, what do you need all these parts for?"

"To repair an android that's been badly damaged," Dastun answered without further elaboration.

"Oh dear!" Instro exclaimed in dismay. "I wish I could do more to help you. I will keep searching and call you if any more components turn up."

"Thanks, Instro."

Colonel Dastun left the Amadeus and wondered where he could go next. It wasn't as if the city had a chain of build-your-own-android stores or even a large number of scientists who knew the technology involved. He wished to hell Norman could've picked someone more competent for this task, but who else could be trusted?

"Make it happen," Dastun grumbled to himself as he set out on the next part of his quest.

[-]

Beck snickered and congratulated himself on his own genius. The very last place anyone would think to look for him was Paradigm Corp's own headquarters. But the company seemed so mysteriously short-staffed that sneaking in had been simplicity itself. Rosewater's labs were abandoned, and now Beck roamed them at will, stuffing his pockets with every precious cybernetic part he could find. He wasn't sure what he'd build first, but soon he'd be able to break his criminal compatriots out of jail. Then he'd show Paradigm City what it _really_ had to be afraid of!

[-]

Roger was dissolving. Trapped in a fever-induced nightmare, he saw his arms and legs melt into puddles of tomato stew. He wanted to call Big O for help, but his wristwatch had dissolved too. All his enemies stood around laughing at him as he melted. Just as he tried to scream, he heard Dorothy calling his name. A brilliant ray of light shined down on him and he suddenly awakened, limbs and watch intact, back in his bed. Dorothy pressed a cool, damp cloth to his forehead.

"Coming to my rescue again, huh?" he whispered with as much strength as he could muster.

"All I did was wake you up," she said. "You were having a bad dream."

He began coughing once more, and allowed her to give him a spoonful of vile-tasting red medicine.

"You will get better, you . . . you . . ." she stammered.

"Louse?" Roger suggested, and saw with amazement that there were tears in her eyes. Her normally rock steady hands were trembling. "Hey, I'm not _that_ sick!" He rasped, and reached up to wipe away one of her oily tears. "Don't be afraid, Dorothy. There are rules in this house, and one of them is I don't let down the people I love."


	3. Partners

Angel hummed a merry tune as she drove her new, bright pink company car through the streets of Paradigm City. Although it was late afternoon, this domeless section remained nearly deserted, with only scattered clumps of rubbish giving any evidence of the chaos that had reigned the day before. Not a good neighborhood to be in, but her confidence was restored to the point that she could imagine herself to be the baddest thing in it. Well, maybe. As she stopped for a red light, she looked over and was startled to see Colonel Dan Dastun of the military police wandering down a sidewalk looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. She froze for a moment, then thought again as she let out her breath. Really, she ought to take off before he noticed her. But she _did_ have fences to mend, and Dastun had been kind to her once . . . .

"Time for some more diplomacy," she purred, and looked for an inconspicuous place to park.

[-]

"Well, boys, lookee here!" an ugly voice sneered. "The head of the Paradigm City military police himself, Dangerous Dan Dastun, wandering onto our territory without an escort!"

Dastun cursed as he watched the members of one of the city's more notorious street gangs circle and surround him in an alleyway. He'd been so intent on looking for a cybernetics store he'd heard was located in his this neighborhood that he'd walked straight into an ambush. He was outnumbered five to one and his assailants were all armed. Even if he managed to draw his gun, he'd probably be dead before he could use it.

"What's the matter, Danny boy?" another one of the gang mocked him. "Can't call your tanks down on us?"

Suddenly a shot rang out, then another, and another, and three of the gang members howled and clutched their now empty hands while their own pistols lay on the pavement. Dastun ducked behind a garbage can and drew his weapon as bullets began whizzing over his head. He managed to get off a shot at one of the gang before their leader, also disarmed by the mysterious sniper, yelled for a retreat. Then the punks were gone, as fast as they'd appeared.

"Are you all right, Colonel?" A decidedly feminine figure with a smoking gun in her hand stepped into the light.

"You!" Dastun exclaimed as he saw his rescuer.

"My, my," Angel tsked. "Such a way to greet someone who's just saved your life. And here I was hoping we could be friends."

"I owe you one, all right," Dastun muttered, patting his jacket pocket to make sure the small box with Instro's chips had stayed in it. The box was there, but he realized to his horror that the list was missing. When he'd drawn his gun, it must have flown out.

"Are you looking for this?" Angel said, picking up a piece of paper that she saw on the ground near his feet.

"Give me that!" He reached to snatch it away from her, but she pulled it away too quickly.

"These are android parts," Angel frowned with concentration as she scanned the page. "Very specific android parts. What do you want with these?"

Dastun said nothing, but held out his hand for the list, which Angel returned after a final curious glance. She noticed he had not yet put his gun away.

"You know, Colonel," she said, "I can probably help you obtain some of these items, if that's what you need."

Dastun's face was stern. He hesitated before speaking again.

"Before I can accept _your_ help," he grumbled, "I need to know one thing."

"And what's that?"

"When I last saw you a few weeks ago, in that old church, were you trying to save R. Dorothy Wayneright, or were you going to help Alan Gabriel kill her?"

Whatever reaction Dastun was expecting from the cold double agent, it wasn't the one he got. Angel froze for a second as if paralyzed, and then her entire body shuddered. She dropped her gun on the pavement and buried her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she moaned. "I would never assist a monster like Gabriel! I meant to stop him . . . but then . . . I . . . I didn't . . . ."

Dastun didn't know what to make of this emotional display, but he wasn't in the mood to have the street gang come back and take advantage of it. He scooped up Angel's gun and barked at her to walk with him back to where he'd left his police car, while he kept both weapons out, ready for more trouble. She went along with him, almost mechanically. As they got to his patrol car, he shoved her on the back less than gently to make her get in, and was surprised at her gasp of pain.

"You injured?" he demanded. He knew she hadn't been shot, but he could see a small bloodstain forming on the back of her shirt. "Do you need to go to a hospital?"

She shivered and shook her head.

"It's nothing," she said.

 _The hell it was_ , Dastun thought to himself. But he wouldn't have time to wonder about it until he got them both into a safer neighborhood. As he drove, Angel slowly regained her composure and stared out the window.

"So are you going to arrest me?"

"What for?" Dastun handed her back her gun. "Disarming a bunch of thugs who probably would've killed me? That's not the way I operate."

"You always try to do the right thing, don't you?" Angel asked. She refused to meet his eyes. "I wish I could be like that."

"No one's stopping you." He pulled the car over. "Or are they?"

She shook her head.

"Agent 340 is dead," she told him. "I'm not even sure she existed in the first place."

"What do you mean by that?"

Dastun listened in horror as Angel began to describe the movie set she'd come across, the realization that her memories of a happy childhood had been lies, implanted in her by the Union. He was even more horrified when she suddenly turned her back to him and pulled up her shirt to reveal the angry red wounds on her back.

"Courtesy of Vera Ronstadt," she gasped, as pulling the fabric away caused one of the lash marks to start bleeding again.

"Hold still," Dastun said. He pushed a button on his dashboard, and a small first aid kit popped out from underneath the glove compartment. "This should help."

Angel felt him spray something on her back, and the pain began to lessen almost immediately. She sighed with relief.

"Thank you, Colonel." As she lowered her shirt and turned around, she saw Dastun looking at his list again. "I wasn't lying to you before - I know where some of those parts can be found. I can get you into Paradigm's labs. You aren't exactly going to find components like that in a hardware store. But why did you ask me about . . . ?" She gasped again as she made the connection. "They're for her, aren't they? For Dorothy?"

He nodded.

"What's going on? And why isn't Roger Smith doing this?" She asked. "Has something happened to him too?" She paled when he didn't answer her at first, then resumed an outward appearance of calm as he described the situation.

"Roger's the best friend I ever had," Dastun said. "I may not understand his taste in women, but I know he cares about Dorothy – even more than he cares about that walking pile of whip-ass he keeps underground. I'll do whatever it takes to help them now."

"Including trust me I hope?" Angel asked. "I know you don't have any reason to, but I owe them that much. Because of my jealousy, I would have let Alan Gabriel commit murder. I can't forgive myself for that." She pulled a Paradigm Corp Security I.D. out of one of her pockets. "Let Casseey Jenkins make up for Agent 340's misdeeds. Please."

"You're serious?" Dastun stared at her hard and this time she did meet his eyes without flinching. "Paradigm Labs. Right." He started the car up again, and headed toward the one location in the city he dreaded most.

[-]

Norman fretted and chewed on the edge of his mustache as he tried to keep an eye on the security screen showing Master Roger's bedroom while simultaneously tending to his appointed task of repairing Big O. Whatever unremembered powers had placed Norman here had also left him a veritable warehouse of spare parts for the huge megadeus. Unfortunately those parts could do Dorothy no good at all, and to make matters worse Master Roger's fever had not abated in the slightest. Over the past few hours, it had risen even higher. The butler had had no difficulty persuading Dorothy to stay by Roger's side so he could surreptitiously monitor them both at once. Indeed, he doubted anything less than a megadeus could have pried her loose from her current position. But there was frustratingly little Norman could do to help either of them, so now he tended to the biggest patient of them all.

The black megadeus didn't look any better than his dominus at the moment. Big O's red helmet had been completely shattered off by Big Fau, and there was a gaping hole near the pilot chamber. The chamber itself stood a cluttered mess of empty oxygen tanks, saltwater puddles and tangled cables. Norman thought it nothing short of amazing that the damaged megadeus had made it all the way back to the mansion without breaking down itself.

"Hopefully no emergencies for a while, my fine fellow," Norman muttered to his charge. "You don't look ready for any more 'basement cleaning' either." As Norman began his repairs, he got the sense that Big O was alert and watching him. No – not him. The megadeus' optic receptors were focused on the same security screen that Norman kept glancing at. "Yes," Norman said. "I'm worried too. But I'm sure Colonel Dastun has everything in hand. We must hope for the best."

[-]

"I don't believe this!" Angel exclaimed as she surveyed the scattered mess of Alex Rosewater's former lab, and followed the observation with a string of curses.

"I take it this isn't what you expected to find," Dastun said, knowing the look of a toss-and-grab job when he saw one.

"No! Where the hell was security? Did Alex kill them _all_?" She began poring over the wreckage and grabbed a box that she put some small components into. "We need these . . . and these . . . what else? Give me that list!" She practically barked at Dastun.

The officer handed it over and began looking around the lab, not wanting to get in her way, and not sure he'd recognize what they were searching for even if he came across it. He shook his head, depressed at his own incompetence. He was glad he had a partner who knew something about technology at least, but wasn't there anything _he_ could do?

"It isn't fair," Angel moaned twenty minutes and a mountain of laboratory trash later. "This lab should've had everything we need, but only half the items are here." She looked ready to cry with frustration.

"That's still more than I could've found on my own," Dastun said. "You did your best."

"My best isn't good enough." She put a hand over her eyes. "My one chance to make up for what I've done, and it's hopeless!"

"Not yet it isn't," he growled. "I'm not giving up this easily."

"Well what are we going to do?" She kicked at a pile of clutter. "I wasn't kidding. You're not going to find memory core components just anywhere."

"I know." Dastun scanned the walls and ceiling of the room they were in. "The lab didn't look like this the last time you saw it, did it?"

"Of course not! This must have just happened! Maybe during those riots the other day."

"Then there could be some security recordings of the thief – aha!" Dastun exclaimed, finally locating the well-disguised camera lens he was looking for, and tapped the wall next to it. "You're the espionage expert. Get me whatever this thing filmed."

It wasn't hard for Angel to trace the security camera back to its data storage unit, and retrieve the data. She and Dastun went back to his patrol car with the parts they'd gathered and the security recording, and Dastun popped the recording into the small computer mounted in his dashboard. He fast-forwarded through 'empty' sections showing the lab in an orderly, neat state, then put the recording on slow when a figure came into view. The lanky, gaudy figure of a man in bright yellow clothing, with bright, curly blond hair danced around the lab, grabbing, ransacking or knocking over everything in sight.

"Beck!" Dastun hissed angrily at the recording.

"Who?" Angel asked, trying to get a better look at the monitor.

"Beck," Dastun repeated. "Aka Jason Beck aka Beck Gold aka the biggest pain in the ass in Paradigm Penitentiary history. Professional thief, bank robber, kidnapper and extortionist. He's committed so many crimes the judge sentenced him to 273 years of hard labor, but he keeps breaking out of jail." He gritted his teeth. "Beck's also an old enemy of Roger's - and he's the main reason Dorothy's in such bad shape now. He helped Rosewater grab her."

"It looks like he grabbed the parts we need too," Angel observed. "I suggest we pay a visit to Mr. Beck and get them back."

Dastun stopped the data recording and banged the dashboard with his fist.

"Easier said than done," he muttered. "We have to find him first, and he's a slippery character. Dangerous too."

"I'm not afraid of danger, Colonel," Angel grinned. "And I think I know just the person who can help us find him."

[-]


	4. Hunting Party

The bar was dimly lit, but so grungy and grimy that the burnt out light bulbs only enhanced its aesthetic appearance. Overhead, a dusty fan turned so slowly that the stale air didn't circulate much, although most of the clientele were smoking too heavily to mind. Angel tossed the jaded bartender a bill, grabbed a bottle of beer and headed toward a seat at the back of the room. Taking the empty chair on one side of a small round table, she placed a folded up newspaper down next to the table's ashtray and tried very hard not to look at the bearded man sitting across from her.

"You aren't one of the usual customers here," the bearded man remarked, keeping his own eyes focused on the paper he already held in his hands. Thick 'hearing aid' wires protruded from his ears, which were enormous.

"There's room for more than one Negotiator in this city," Angel said.

"Perhaps," Big Ear answered. "But what would another Negotiator be dealing in?"

"Ornithology. I'm looking for a yellow-crested, yellow-breasted jailbird."

Big Ear rustled his paper, as if considering.

"Such birds are extremely rare," he finally said. "But I hear something with that plumage has been spotted down near the old lighthouse at Dead Man's Point. Good luck with your bird-watching, Negotiator."

"Thanks." Angel got up and walked away, leaving her newspaper with its concealed wad of cash behind.

[-]

"Has he been this way for long?" Dr. Carter asked, getting out a hypodermic needle and a small vial of liquid.

"For approximately twenty minutes and forty-nine point five seconds," Dorothy answered.

"Well it's good that you summoned me so soon. His fever is dangerously high. Ordinarily, I'd suggest moving him to a hospital, but I don't think it would be safe at the present time." The doctor loaded up the needle and injected his patient with the medicine from the vial. Roger moaned and trembled while Dorothy attempted to hold him still for the doctor, but he showed no sign of regaining consciousness. He was soaked in sweat and his breathing sounded labored. On the doctor's instructions, Dorothy placed instant cold packs around Roger's head.

"He will get better, won't he?" Norman asked, unable to conceal the doubt in his voice.

"Yes," Dorothy answered, without waiting for a response from the physician. "He told me he would. It's one of his rules."

Norman nodded to her and followed Dr. Carter out of the room. Behind them, Dorothy held Roger's hand and adjusted one of the cold packs so that it rested across Roger's burning forehead.

"I don't like the turn his condition has taken at all," Dr. Carter whispered to Norman. "I'll stay and try to get him through this crisis, of course, but it isn't good." The doctor looked over Norman's shoulder to glance at his patient through the open crack in the doorway. "Hmph. Can't say I'd want an android for a nursemaid myself. They're efficient, I'll give them that. But so unfeeling."

[-]

The new hideout couldn't have been more perfect. He should have thought of the place years ago, instead of trying to have bases in crowded city areas. Once he made T-Bone and Dove hollow out the lighthouse interior, it would be large enough to conceal a megadeus-sized robot of Beck's own. And with a name like Dead Man's Point, most superstitious city dwellers – including the police – stayed away.

 _Yes, Beck old boy_ , he thought to himself _, things were definitely looking up!_

Of course, it never hurt to take chances on a little extra security . . . . With a malevolent grin, Beck activated the beacon system he'd set up on lighthouse grounds. Pure genius! If Roger Smith's griffon or any police vehicle or tank showed, the computer system would ID it and go into defensive mode. As for the damn black megadeus, hopefully it was too damaged to show up anytime soon . . . . And maybe, just maybe, Beck could build something that would at last crush it like the obsolete tin can it deserved to be!

Buoyed by that thought, he was completely unprepared for the feel of a gun at his back.

"Bet you didn't think I could move quietly when I wanted to," Dastun commented to the startled master criminal.

"You!" Beck screeched, recognizing the voice coming from behind him. "You can't possibly be here!"

"Really? Hands in the air, no sudden moves!" Dastun commanded.

Beck, never one for being law-abiding, dropped to the floor, rolled, and aimed a taser beam at him, which Dastun only just managed to avoid. Dastun cursed and fired a warning shot. He couldn't afford to shoot Beck for real – at least not while he didn't know the location of the stolen components – but he didn't want Beck to realize that. In the smoke kicked up from the gun and the taser impact however, Beck managed to flee toward the door of the lighthouse balcony. Dastun cursed again, and ran after him as Beck was confronted by another figure already on the balcony.

"Going somewhere?" Angel asked sweetly as she karate-chopped the taser out of Beck's hand. The weapon fell a very long way down to the beach below.

"Ow! Who the hell are you?" Beck screeched, as he tried to dodge, only to be caught between two opponents and the thin lighthouse railing.

"You can call me . . . Trouble," she said with a smile that was anything but angelic. "I'd like to talk to you about some missing Paradigm Corp property."

Beck attempted to climb over the railing to a lighthouse ladder below, only to withdraw in alarm as the fragile, rusty ladder gave way and also clattered down.

"I wouldn't recommend that," Angel said. "I came up my own way. Want to try?" Without waiting for a response, Angel clicked a small gadget she'd been holding in her hands, and a thin strand of grapple line wrapped itself tightly around Beck's torso. Another click, and a grapple hook anchored itself firmly into the lighthouse wall. "Have a nice trip!" she said, cheerfully kicking his legs out from under him, so that he went over the side railing and suddenly found himself dangling about eighty feet off the ground.

"Are you insane?" Beck screamed, swinging back and forth unable to free himself.

"No. Just temperamental. Now tell me where you hid the components you took from Alex Rosewater's lab."

"No way!" the blond felon shouted back. "I stole those parts fair and square!"

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to reconsider?" Angel asked, slapping the grapple line hard so that Beck was spun around in a dizzying fashion.

"Dastun!" Beck yelled. "I have my rights! Save me from this madwoman!"

To Beck's horror, Dastun yawned and looked at his watch.

"Huh. I'm off-duty." Dastun grunted. "Guess I'll have to leave things up to my Negotiator."

"Nooo!" Beck cried. Ol' Crow Boy probably wanted to kill him for that robot drone attack he'd been forced into!

"I'm going to get some doughnuts," Dastun drawled over to Angel. "Want one?"

"Sure," she grinned, taking out a pair of scissors and glancing at the grapple line.

"Wait! I'll talk! I'll talk!" Beck wailed.

[-]

Twenty minutes and the retrieval of one box of rare android components later, Angel checked off the last item in Dastun's list.

"Everything's there," she said. "Norman should be able to repair her now."

"I sure hope so," Dastun muttered.

With Beck's defense system turned off, Dastun's military police backup was on its way. Beck still cursed and swore at both of them from his secure but precarious-looking position.

"I suppose we'll have to haul him back up," Dastun scratched his head and sounded rather reluctant at the idea.

"I'll leave that up to you." Angel handed him the box and the list. "I have to get out of here. It wouldn't do for your men to see you were riding around in a pink car with a wanted woman." They'd switched vehicles when Dastun suspected Beck might have an ID beacon operating.

"I'm going to try to get the charges against you dropped," Dastun told her. "Maybe there'll even be a reward for capturing Beck."

"Keep the Negotiation fee. For now," she added. "Give Roger and Dorothy my best wishes."

"Will do. We made a pretty good team, didn't we?" He waited a few seconds for an answer, but when he looked up she was gone.


	5. Sands Running Low

"You're a remarkably stubborn man, Mr. Smith," Dr. Carter said to his patient, who appeared much better and was even sitting up in bed.

"I have often thought so too," Norman sighed. "Thank heavens."

Dorothy said nothing, but reached over to brush a few strands of hair out of Roger's eyes. Norman hoped it was his imagination, but she seemed to be moving slower than usual. She'd seen Roger through the worst of his illness these past several hours, holding his hand all the while, but now just as Roger was recovering she had begun to fade.

 _Hurry, Colonel_ , Norman wished silently. _Please_ . . . .

As if in answer to the butler's prayer, a heavy-fisted hammering could be heard on the front door of the mansion.

"I'd better go see to that," Norman said hastily, and all but ran toward the entrance.

"Everything you wanted," Dastun panted from his own haste, handing Norman the box of cybernetic components. "Am I in time?"

"Not a moment too soon," Norman nodded. "I may need your help to get her to my workshop. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you, Sir!"

"Roger all right?"

"He will be, though his illness was worse than I first thought." Norman carried the precious box into a side room and placed it in the dumbwaiter he used to transport items to and from his basement workshop. "Please, I fear we're running out of time."

Both men dashed upstairs to Roger's room, startling Dr. Carter.

"Jeez, Roger, you look like hell!" Dastun exclaimed, appalled at the change in his appearance.

"Thanks," Roger whispered back almost inaudibly, but with a weak smile.

Dastun had to agree with Norman's assessment of the situation, though, as Dorothy turned toward them. She was always pale of course, but now she looked more haggard than usual, and trembled slightly as she stood up to greet Dastun.

"Roger's condition is improving, Colonel," she said. "He should be well again soon."

"Glad to hear it," Dastun responded, taking off his hat. "How are _you_ feeling?"

Dorothy seemed confused by the question. Dastun realized with some embarrassment he'd never treated her as if she were a real person before, and he'd caught her off guard.

"I am very glad Roger is better," Dorothy answered, and began to sway unsteadily on her feet. Dastun and Norman both rushed forward to prop her up before she could fall, and Roger struggled to get out of bed to reach her too. Dr. Carter had to lean his full body weight onto his patient's shoulders to hold him back.

"Dorothy . . . !" Roger whisper-shouted her name, and Dastun felt like a heel pulling her away out of his reach.

"Don't be alarmed, Sir," Norman said as he led her toward the door. "Miss Dorothy is in need of some maintenance, but Colonel Dastun has been kind enough to fetch the components I asked for. I'll have her fixed up in no time."

'No time' proved to be several nerve-wracking hours, during which it took Dastun and Dr. Carter's combined efforts to keep an anxious Roger from getting up and charging down to Norman's workroom in spite of his illness. While the doctor expressed astonishment at his patient's rapid recovery (and expansive vocabulary), Dastun found himself longing for the comparative restfulness of riot patrol. The military police officer also couldn't stop thinking about another woman, one with mischievous eyes and long blond hair . . . .

At last, Norman returned – and not alone. Dorothy, looking much more herself with her customary headband back in place, gave a small, glad cry as she saw Roger again and ran to his side. He wrapped his arms around her in a fierce hug and, completely oblivious of his audience, kissed her firmly on the lips. After recovering from her surprise, Dorothy responded with equal passion. Neither one even noticed as Norman, Dastun and Dr. Carter shuffled out of the room to give them some privacy. The doctor, though, required a bit of a shove before he took his disbelieving eyes off the couple and allowed Norman to shut the door.

"You will remind Mr. Smith he is not to engage in any strenuous physical activity, won't you?" Dr. Carter asked the butler.

"As soon as I have the opportunity to do so, doctor," Norman beamed. "Now if you gentlemen don't mind, I really must get back to my other patient."

" _Other_ patient?" Dr. Carter said with incredulity.

"The one in the basement, of course."

Dastun practically choked with laughter as Dr. Carter muttered something about "crazed clients" and fled down to the sidewalk as fast as his legs would carry him. But the officer winced as he saw the hands on the mansion's grandfather clock and realized it was time for him to get back to work also. Putting his hat back on, he stretched and headed wearily toward his patrol car. Well, it's not as if he hadn't performed plenty of other shifts on no sleep . . . . and no food either . . . .

As he got in the vehicle, a familiar, welcome scent rose up from the passenger seat – donuts! A fresh bag of donuts was waiting for him, and an unopened auto-hot cup of coffee! As he reached into the bag, he saw a pair of angel wings scribbled on it in pencil.

"Son of a gun . . . ." He grinned so wide it practically made his cheeks hurt as he grabbed the first donut and wolfed it down with a lightness of spirit he hadn't felt in a long, long time . . . .

[-]


	6. Dastun's Bravest Act

Dastun checked in on Roger and Dorothy over the next few days as much as duty permitted to make sure they were both on the mend, though he didn't know why he bothered. It was obvious from the way they kept gazing at each other they barely even knew he was there. But Norman assured Dastun all was indeed well, and Roger had begun to appear hale and hearty once more. The butler even brought Dastun down to the basement to show him that "the other patient" was better also, though it gave Dastun a shiver to get so close to the colossal black megadeus.

"Don't worry, Colonel. He likes you," Norman said, loading a brace of heat-seeking missiles into one of Big O's massive arms.

"Oh, good," Dastun murmured quietly.

But Dastun hadn't been able to find hide nor hair of the person he most wanted to see. He had news he wanted to give Angel personally, but the elusive former agent was nowhere to be found. Paradigm Corp headquarters buzzed with activity trying to make the city run as smoothly as it ever did, and Casseey Jenkins apparently kept too busy to see the likes of him.

Dastun sighed as he left Roger's mansion at the end of his day. Looking up, he could see Roger and Dorothy standing out on the balcony in the setting sun, enjoying yet another romantic embrace. Well, at least Roger was happy. It's not like Dastun ever expected to be happy himself . . . .

"They really do love each other, don't they?" a familiar female voice said behind him.

Dastun's heart lurched as he turned around and saw Angel standing there, looking up at the balcony as well. Her eyes were slightly moist, but there was something serene in her expression.

"Sure appears that way," Dastun answered.

"I'm glad," Angel whispered. "I never thought I'd hear myself saying that, but I am."

Dastun could only stare at her and struggle to find his own voice again. His throat felt tight. God, she was beautiful . . . . and her own person once more. He pulled a wad of folded papers from inside his trenchcoat pocket and handed them to her. She looked down and unfolded them with curiosity.

"Your, uh, file . . . ." Dastun stammered. "No charges. The case against Agent 340 is officially closed. You're free to do whatever you want. As long as it's legal," he added hastily.

"Free . . . ." A single tear trickled down Angel's face. "I don't think I've ever been free before. Thank you, Colonel."

Dastun rubbed the back of his neck and loosened his collar, but his throat still felt like it had a megadeus-sized lump in it. He knew he was about to make a fool of himself, but with any luck he might at least die a violent death in the line of duty before any of his men found out.

"Um, so since you're free from now on," he stuttered, "I was, ah, wondering if you'd be free this weekend to, er, go to the movies or out to dinner or something . . . . with me, I mean. Not that you have to, or anything if you don't want to . . . it's just . . . ."

Angel looked at him as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing – or rather, seeing.

"Dan Dastun, are you actually _blushing_?"

"Uh, probably." His face sure felt hot enough. "Okay," he sighed in defeat. "You can just go ahead and shoot me now."

She quirked an eyebrow and grinned at him.

"Nothing illegal, I thought you just said. Besides, if I did that, however would we go out this Saturday?"

Dastun's eyes bugged out for a second and his jaw dropped.

"You mean you'll do it?" he gasped. "You don't mind?"

She smiled, and Dastun crushed his hat into a large, green felt raisin in his hands.

"So where did you want to go?" she asked.

"Um," he still could hardly speak, but now he couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face either, "I thought I'd leave it up to my new Negotiator."

With a smile brighter than the setting sun, she put her arm around his shoulder and together they walked away from the mansion.

"Colonel Dastun, I have the feeling this is going to be a beautiful friendship . . . ."

WE HAVE COME TO TERMS 


End file.
